


in distant castles mirrors broke

by lily_winterwood



Series: when the ice melts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Consensual Somnophilia, Eventual Happy Ending, Ice Powers, M/M, Mage Victor Nikiforov, Magic-Users, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pregnancy Kink, Prince Katsuki Yuuri, Rimming, Snow Queen Elements, Yule Ball, in the second instalment coming to a keyfic collection near you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13393767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: Yuuri had discovered his powers at a very young age.For as long as he remembers, people have talked in hushed whispers around him, about him. About how the Northern Lights had shone at the hour of his birth, about the stars that had burst into existence alongside him. Yuuri has known, from a young age, that he’s destined for some sort of greatness.The problem is, he’s not sure what sort of greatness it is, or if it’s even really greatness at all. After all, everyone says that sort of stuff about princes.(Ice Prince AU ficlets, originally fromTumblr)





	1. a whisper of your name

**Author's Note:**

> So first off, this [new design](http://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/post/169704280674/thatshamelessyaoishipper-why-is-no-one-talking) of Yuuri for the YOI/100 Sleeping Princes collab is a thing of beauty.
> 
> Secondly, this series of ficlets were prompted by Auri, Nyerus, Su-Topia, and co, on Tumblr, and are meant to set up the AU for another piece I'm going to be working on after BBOI. That's why it doesn't end very perfectly. Don't worry, it'll all be resolved eventually!
> 
> Future prompted ficlets in the Ice Prince AU-verse set before the ending chapter will be put into this piece, so feel free to check back for more!

“ _Viktor_.”

The moan rouses Viktor from his stupor outside the Prince’s bedchamber. He looks around, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from, but the hallway seems deserted.

As the most powerful wielder of defensive ice magic in the kingdom, naturally he had been assigned to protect no one other than the Prince himself. He usually does that duty in the daytime, but tonight the Prince had requested for him to stand guard as well, having feared (not unwisely) that a noble he had accidentally insulted at a royal function today may return to return the favour. The Prince may have apologised profusely, but Lord Plisetsky was known to hold grudges. And perhaps exact creative sorts of revenges involving hairballs and cat tails.

Viktor quickly rushes to check the antechamber, only to find nothing but the usual night guards playing cards. They snap to attention as soon as they see them, but Viktor pays them no heed as he returns to his post. He’s about to dismiss it as a trick of the mind, when —

“ _Viktor_.”

It was coming from inside the Prince’s bedchamber. Viktor’s heart freezes, just momentarily, as his hand reaches for the door handle. The only person with more powerful ice magic in this kingdom than him is the Prince, but the Prince had always seemed emotionally incapable of producing more than just a couple splutters of snowflakes whenever Viktor’s watching. He has no reason to believe the Prince would want to call his name for anything besides a medical emergency or some sort of frustration-related anger. He keeps making a fool of the man, after all.

Still, there’s the possibility of a medical emergency. Viktor’s heart hammers, and he opens the door.

The bedchamber is airy, large, slightly chilly due to the extensive glittering icework decorating the walls. The Prince had created those himself, Viktor knows, though right now he has no time to admire them as he looks around for any signs of an intruder. Shivering a bit despite the fur trim on his cloak, Viktor turns his attention towards the bed, and the soft moans therein.

He quietly pulls back the sheer blue drapes surrounding the bed, his breath fogging up in front of him in the chill. It hitches, though, at the sight of the flush across the Prince’s cheeks, at the sound of his laboured breaths.

“Are you hurt, Your Highness?” Viktor asks. “Are you ill? Should I get —”

“ _Viktor, please_ ,” breathes the Prince, nuzzling harder into the pillow, exposing the pale line of his throat. Viktor swallows; he had, on numerous occasions, appreciated the icy beauty of the Prince, but never like this.

Never while he was in bed, flushed and heated with his bedsheets doing precious little to conceal his — _oh_.

Viktor’s first instinct is to turn, to step away. Hot embarrassment seeps across his cheeks, down his neck. “I’m _so_ sorry,” he breathes. “I’ve clearly caught you at a bad moment, Your Highness, I’m going to —”

“No,” urges the Prince, black lashes fluttering open, his cheeks flushing an even brighter shade of pink. Viktor can’t help but notice how much darker his eyes seem to get when they’re aroused — almost to the colour of a starless night.

He shivers again, despite his entire body growing heated in response to the Prince’s hand reaching towards him.

“Viktor, please stay,” the Prince begs.

And Viktor does.


	2. in spite of the snow

Viktor wakes the next morning to the feeling of someone else in the bed next to him.

His first thought is panic — how did he so blatantly shirk his duty to his Prince? — but then the memories of the night come rolling back, and his eyes snap open in alarm to confirm that he is, in fact, lying in bed with the Prince, his head pillowed by the soft rise and fall of His Royal Highness’s chest.

Viktor stiffens, and so does the lazy hand carding through his hair. A set of confused brown eyes widen into something more panicked as Viktor scrambles to his knees, taking in the dishevelled (and very much naked) appearance of the Prince next to him.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Viktor says. “Your Highness, I don’t know what came over —”

The Prince’s cheeks flush, but he holds Viktor’s gaze as he sits up and presses a finger to Viktor’s lips. “Shh,” he says. “Nothing happened last night without my consent.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Unless you —”

“ _No_!” Viktor says immediately. “I’ve — ever since the Midwinter Ball — Your Highness, I have dreamed of this moment from the moment we first danced. But I did not think —”

“Yuuri,” says the Prince, sternly but not unkindly. His fingers brush against Viktor’s cheeks, grasping into the silvery hair behind his nape. “You can call me that.”

“Yuuri,” agrees Viktor, and Yuuri’s smile widens.

“It… It sounds good on you.” He looks visibly flustered, as if he can’t believe he’s getting his way.

“Call me Viktor,” adds Viktor, since they’re clearly not the Prince and his Guard anymore, at least not within the confines of these four posters.

“I believe I already have,” says Yuuri, his dark lashes turning downcast as he reaches down and takes Viktor’s hand. “Viktor, can I ask you something?”

Viktor’s heart feels as fragile as spun glass. “Anything,” he says.

“You’re sort of my subject, since the Northern Province is in the bounds of the kingdom, so I — I don’t want you to be doing this because of some sort of duty to me. Just so you know. I — I’ve admired you for a really long time, and I don’t want to force —”

Viktor’s brain had shut down somewhere around the moment when Yuuri admitted his admiration. _For a really long time_. But how long?

Long enough for Yuuri to have turned bright red at their first formal introduction? For him to have run away without a second glance, for him to have crafted palaces of ice only to melt them at the sound of Viktor’s voice? For him to have fumbled and stumbled through every exercise Viktor offered to help him focus his magic, and glared so bitterly when Viktor tried to figure out his emotional vulnerabilities?

Turns out it had been Viktor who had been the vulnerability all along.

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” Viktor says, and then realises what that must sound like. Yuuri’s shoulders wilt visibly, but Viktor quickly shakes his head, reaching out to pull him closer. “I had thought, all this time, that you didn’t like me at all.”

Yuuri laughs at that, a little sheepish, very bell-like. “I was frustrated,” he admits. “But I could never hate you, Viktor.”

_I have loved you for too long to be even capable of such a thing_. Yuuri doesn’t say that, but Viktor feels it anyway, in each kiss Yuuri places against his knuckles, against the palms and backs of his hands. His lips are soft, his eyes beseeching, and Viktor is suddenly seized with the undeniable realisation that he would gladly turn the entire world to everlasting winter for this man.

He tips back Yuuri’s chin with his shaking hands, his breath barely caressing against Yuuri’s lips. Moments later there is no distance between them and his own, and his heart feels full of spring.


	3. satin and sapphires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was inspired by phyxalia's beautiful [lingerie designs](https://twitter.com/phyxalia/status/954543788721975296) for ice prince yuuri!

“You called for me, my Prince?” 

Viktor’s voice is low, melodious as he steps forward out of all of the guards, one hand to his heart and his head bowed in deference. A shiver runs down Yuuri’s spine as he looks down at his erstwhile bodyguard, and he digs his nails into his thumb in order to stem his almost automatic arousal at the sweet timbre of his lover’s voice. 

“Walk a while with me,” replies Yuuri, leading the way towards the rose garden. A little ways away, his parents and Mari are cheering on some nobles in the middle of a tennis match. Viktor falls into step with him as the sound of the game fades into the distance, replaced by the melodious tinkling of a fountain.

The autumnal winds stir at Viktor’s hair as they head down the gravelly paths through the rosebushes. The roses here are blooming, but Yuuri knows that most of them have been cultivated with magic, and so bloom all year round.

“Beautiful,” Viktor’s voice murmurs. Yuuri stops in front of a bush laden with sparkling blue roses, and hums in agreement.

“Yeah, this is a rare specimen from the Northern Province,” he says quietly. “This garden is now the only place outside of the North that grows them.”

But Viktor only sends the roses a cursory glance. “The Lords of the Northern Wilds used to give cuttings of them as proposals of peace or marriage,” he remarks.

“It was a treaty offering to us from the House of Baranovskaya,” says Yuuri, though he can sense Viktor’s quiet discomfort at delving into the past between their peoples. “But I — I didn’t come here to talk to you about the flowers.”

“What did you want to talk to me about, Your Highness?” asks Viktor. Yuuri looks around, ascertaining that they’re mostly alone, before stepping closer into Viktor’s space. He reaches out to the side, plucking the rose from its bush with a little magic. Breathing a little extra brilliance into its azure petals, Yuuri then reaches up to tuck it behind Viktor’s ear. 

“I would crown you in these if I could,” he remarks. 

Viktor flushes bright pink as Yuuri’s fingers trail along his cheek, running a thumb along his lip. He then exhales, long silvery lashes fluttering down to brush against his pale skin.

“Come to me tonight,” Yuuri adds, his own breath hitching in his throat at the ethereal beauty of his lover. “I have something to show you.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow at that, lips quirking in amusement. “What is it?” he asks.

“Shh.” Yuuri grins, leans in to capture Viktor’s lips with his own. “It’s a surprise,” he whispers into the infinitesimal space between them when they briefly break, and Viktor hums excitedly at that as he closes the distance again.

A couple minutes later, they emerge from the rose garden a couple steps from one another, Yuuri carefully smoothing down his hair as he falls back into his original vantage point of the match. Viktor, on the other hand, makes no move to hide the disarray of his hair, or the ecstatic flush of his cheeks. 

The rest of the day passes by far too slow for Yuuri’s liking. 

* * *

At the appointed time, Viktor finds himself standing in front of his Prince’s bedchamber, knocking hesitantly at the door. 

This new thing between them is both as beautiful and as fragile as freshly fallen snow, and Viktor can only hope it’s not as ephemeral. The Prince is not known for taking lovers or for fooling around, so finding out this side to him is… rather unexpected.

Not  _entirely_  unexpected though — Viktor remembers the way they had danced at the last Midwinter ball, remembers the hungry brush of bodies and hands on that cold solstice night, the burning of his heart all the months in between. The Prince has always been a creature of fleshly pleasure, though he may appear as imperious as ice, as untouchable as winter. If there is one achievement in his career as an Ice Mage that Viktor can be proud of, surely it must be his steady defrosting of the Prince’s heart.

The Prince answers the door, wrapped in a thick white robe. Viktor only has a moment to appreciate the candlelight caressing his lover’s face before the Prince snaps his fingers and Viktor’s world unexpectedly goes dark. 

When he comes to, though, he finds himself lying on something soft. As he blinks away the spots in his vision, Viktor realises that he’s in the Prince’s bed, bound to the four posters by smooth blue ropes. 

Then he realises he’s naked, and his heart skips a beat. 

The Prince steps into his field of vision, now disrobed. Viktor’s breath flees him as he takes in his blue-and-white ensemble. Sapphires gleam at his brows like little stars, cascade along his hips and abdomen like snowflakes, while the cobalt blue bralette and panties leave very little of his lightly-tanned skin to Viktor’s imagination. 

“Do you like it?” the Prince asks quietly, bashfully, as if he isn’t the one currently clad in every scrap of Viktor’s dirtiest fantasies about him. He kneels down on the bed, just close enough for Viktor to feel the heat from his body. The gossamer train draped along his back tickles Viktor’s legs. 

“Ask me again when I’ve gotten my breath back,” Viktor manages, after a long moment of struggling for words because of the considerable lack of blood in his brain.

The Prince chuckles at that, crawling onto all fours to move closer to Viktor. He tugs gently at the ropes, admiring his handiwork, before straddling Viktor’s abdomen and cupping his face with a sly grin. 

“Is your breath back yet?” he teases. 

Viktor shakes his head. “I beg your mercy, Your Highness,” he says, feeling his cheeks warm under the piercing amber gaze of his Prince. “You are staggeringly beautiful, even beyond words.”

The Prince flushes at that, too, toying idly with a strand of Viktor’s hair for a moment before saying, “you’re too kind, Viktor.”

“I only speak the truth,” replies Viktor earnestly. “I would follow you anywhere, my Prince, you only have to say the word.”

“Isn’t that because I pay you?” But there’s a teasing lilt to the man’s words, especially as his fingers dance now across Viktor’s collarbones. “My guardian, my protector, my mentor, my coach.”

“I haven’t been very good at coaching you,” Viktor laments, remembering the way the Prince used to splutter and blush at the very sight of him, his spells fizzling out uselessly at the briefest hint of Viktor’s voice. 

(If past him ever knew this was where their paths would lead, he’d probably have chalked it up to faulty foresight.)

“My knight in shining armour,” trills the Prince now, his fingers carding confidently through Viktor’s hair, his hips grinding down sweetly against Viktor’s chest. Viktor can feel his arousal through the thin cobalt fabric; a shudder of warmth runs bright through him. 

“That I could be, if there were dragons to slay,” he says. 

The Prince hums. “Plenty of them in here,” he replies, his expression briefly downcast as he points briefly to his head. Viktor’s heart stutters at that, but the Prince smiles at him then, and gently undulates his lithe form once more. The jewels tinkle like little bells; Viktor is entranced. 

“You’re unbelievably resilient,” he says, wishing he could reach up and offer some sort of tactile comfort. “Like water itself, carving new pathways through the earth. The lifeblood of the kingdom, the connection between her people.” He pauses, biting down a moan as his Prince’s fingers circle his nipples. “Your Highness,  _please_ —”

His Prince puts a finger to his lips. “Yuuri,” he whispers. “Let me just be a man with you,” he adds. “I can be the kingdom’s lifeblood outside this bed, outside this room — but while I’m here, I want to be myself.”

“Yuuri,” agrees Viktor. Yuuri kisses his nipples. “Oh,  _stars_.”

The stars in Yuuri’s hair wink at him as the man licks and kisses a wet trail down his chest, along his abdomen. He skirts around the trail of soft silver hair leading from Viktor’s navel, teasingly ghosts soft caresses along the inside of Viktor’s thighs. Viktor moans in frustration, tugging at his binds in his attempt to arch up into Yuuri’s touch. 

“Patience,” chides his lover, as his fingers slowly meander closer to where Viktor needs him the most. “Did no one tell you good things come to those who wait?”

“Yuuri,  _please_ ,” begs Viktor, putting on his best beseeching expression. Yuuri beams wickedly at him then, and curls his fingers around the base.

Viktor nearly comes at that, but he miraculously manages to catch himself, his breath shuddering as Yuuri’s fingers continue to stroke along his shaft. There’s a thoughtful gleam in his eyes, a concentrated wrinkle in his brow; moments later his fingers are slick with lubricant, sliding along Viktor’s length with ease. 

Then, Yuuri smiles as he raises himself slightly, snapping his fingers to remove the blue panties barely covering his own straining erection. Viktor watches, breathless, as Yuuri lines himself up with ease, a slow blush creeping along his cheeks down to his chest and contrasting with his blue-and-white lingerie. 

“I, uh, prepared myself,” he says, almost by way of explanation, and Viktor laughs a little hysterically at that, fixated on the bob of Yuuri’s throat behind the white silk choker bearing a large, gleaming sapphire. 

“It certainly seems that way,” he teases, but whatever else he could have retorted flees his mind soon after that as Yuuri slowly sinks down onto him, the tight slickness of his body engulfing Viktor’s cock. 

Yuuri rides him with an almost graceful cant to his hips, a sweet, slow rhythm that nearly drives Viktor out of his mind with need. He throws his head back, sinking back into the bed as Yuuri gradually picks up the pace, the jewels along his abdomen and hips swaying and jingling in time with his body. 

He’s exquisite like this. As Viktor lies breathless with want beneath Yuuri, he admires the shifts in his Prince’s expression as he chases his pleasure, admires the flush that spreads from Yuuri’s chest along his body. Yuuri’s fingers press against his chest; moments later he changes the angle with a sweet moan, throwing his head back as his hips continue to move against Viktor’s.

Viktor realises he can’t last long, at least not without magic — and spells are the last thing on his mind at present. Yuuri leans forward, kissing him hungrily; with another soft gasp he snaps his fingers again and the ropes silently fall to bed. Viktor immediately takes advantage, his hands coming up to finally brush against the cobalt-coloured satin, against the sheer gossamer that flutters with Yuuri’s every move.

He flips their positions then, pressing Yuuri down against the sheets and fucking into him, savouring the way Yuuri’s hair tosses against the pillow, the way the circlet of sapphires goes askew at his brow. He presses kisses around the white choker, trails soft caresses through the sparkling body jewellery. Yuuri’s legs wrap around him, pressing him close in his thrusts, and Viktor bites down a whimper of pleasure against Yuuri’s collarbone as he finally comes. 

He reaches down between them, then, careful not to pull out just yet as his hands wrap around Yuuri’s shaft, pumping at it until his lover’s expression goes slack and ribbons of white are spurting along his belly, staining his clothes.

Viktor pulls out slowly then, admiring the indolent sprawl of his Prince across his costly silk sheets. Yuuri’s pink lips are parted, his cheeks flushed as he reaches out for Viktor. His legs are still spread, Viktor’s own come oozing out of him. The sight sends a little shiver down Viktor’s spine.

He cleans up the mess with a snap of his fingers, though, ducking down into the circle of Yuuri’s arms shortly after. Yuuri’s lips are soft, luxurious; he blossoms upwards into Viktor’s touch like the first bud of spring amid the frost, and Viktor can’t help but lean in and take, and take, and take. 

“Stay with me tonight,” Yuuri whispers, running a finger along his back to undo the clasps of his bralette. The satin falls from his body with only the faintest tinkles of metal and gems; Yuuri takes it, alongside the panties, and steps away from the bed to put them away. He’s back moments later, setting his circlet on the nightstand as he crawls into bed, pulling up the comforter with him as he settles against Viktor’s body. “Please, Viktor?”

“Of course,” says Viktor, already feeling the drowsiness ebbing into the corners of his consciousness. “Anything for my Prince.”

Yuuri’s shy smile in response to that is the last thing he sees before he falls asleep. 


	4. the midwinter ball

The Midwinter Ball this year is — as all other years — an elaborate affair. People from all over the country come during the longest night of the year to pay tribute to the King and Queen, who endeavour, during the course of the event, to address the needs and concerns of all of the subjects who have grievances requiring royal attention. It was a common saying that every major treaty brokered in the kingdom had been signed at the Midwinter Ball, to the backdrop of ice sculptures and dancing.

This isn’t the first Midwinter Ball Viktor had attended, though. He had been to the one last year as well, one that had been seared into his memory like Heartfrost on a summer day. The Prince — his Yuuri — had overindulged on ricewine then, and flung himself, with his words slurred with drink, into Viktor’s surprised arms.

“ _Be my knight, Viktor_!”

Viktor had never picked up a sword in his life, but he would try, for Yuuri. Yuuri, who now sneaks a hand into his with a small, secret smile, whose eyes shine in the distant light of the crystal chandelier glittering at the heart of the ballroom.

“How do I look?” he asks quietly. They’re just behind a set of curtains, watching the King and Queen greet the people. The Prince is to make his appearance in a moment, and Yuuri’s fidgeting in his beautiful ice-blue outfit, trembling in his gossamer-topped boots and his flowing blue-and-white cloak. Viktor’s chest is fit to burst with how much pride he holds in it — pride for his Prince’s accomplishments, pride for the kingdom’s ongoing peace, and pride for Yuuri’s love and trust in him.

“Like starlight across freshly fallen snow,” he says, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles. Yuuri laughs, breathless.

“It’s just dim when it’s just starlight,” he points out. “You can’t see as well.”

“That’s fine,” says Viktor. “I don’t mind the dark.” He cards his hands through Yuuri’s inky locks, gently adjusting the silver crown on his head. “You bring me to my knees.”

A devious glint shines in Yuuri’s eyes. “I like the sound of that,” he muses.

Viktor chuckles, looks over at the other guards. They’re a very badly-kept secret within the confines of Yuuri’s wing of the palace, within the bubble of Yuuri’s world. But the outside world might look askance, might criticise the Prince’s decision to favour someone from the frequently-impoverished Northern Province. Viktor tries not to think about that right now, though, as he presses a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

“Showtime,” he says, squeezing Yuuri’s hand before the Prince steps away and out through the curtains into the spotlight.

* * *

Viktor is bored.

The ball is a dazzling success, Yuuri and his sister the Crown Princess have successfully wrangled two bickering nobles to sign a new trade agreement, the King and Queen are arranging for a farmer with a broken well to have it repaired as soon as the snow lets up, and everything is going as smoothly as clockwork.

So naturally, Viktor is bored.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” a voice remarks next to him. Viktor turns, to see Lord Plisetsky observing him from over a glass of ricewine.

“Are you old enough to drink that?” Viktor asks. Lord Plisetsky, who hates people reminding him of his youth, bristles.

“Shut up, Viktor,” he grumbles. “Just because you’re the Prince’s favourite doesn’t mean you can give me lip.”

“No, I just do that because you’re Yakov’s student,” says Viktor, with a nod over to the old venerable Ice Mage currently holding court with a bottle of vodka next to the refreshments. “How’s the old man, anyway?”

“Angry,” says Lord Plisetsky. “Because of your sudden decision to change careers. He’s not going to tell you that to your face, though.”

“But you are.” Viktor arches an eyebrow. “You’re mad, too?”

“You were supposed to mentor _me_ ,” snaps Lord Plisetsky. “Me, ruler of the Northern Province? Ring a bell much? But I guess the royal _purse_ is a much bigger draw.”

He’s not talking about the purse. Viktor sighs.

“I’m sorry, Yura,” he says. “You’re so young, with so much power — I don’t want to mess you up; I know my own methods are unorthodox. The Prince is older and —”

“The Prince is the most powerful, yeah, whatever.” Lord Plisetsky rolls his eyes. “And he’s so _controlled_ , and _poised_ , and… whatever. You know he’s volatile, too?”

“No one said _you’re_ volatile, Yura,” Viktor points out.

“Everyone knows it.” Lord Plisetsky’s eyes narrow. “Yakov’s always saying I could copy the Prince’s discipline. _Vitya’s got it made, having such a well-behaved student_.”

His voice takes on Yakov’s accent and cadence almost mockingly. Viktor exhales.

“He doesn’t have full control,” he says. “The Prince. Sometimes he gets flustered, and the spell fails to take hold.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel _better_?”

Viktor chuckles. “Maybe not,” he concedes, as the music stops, and the whirling crowd of dancers around the Prince disperse. Yuuri begins to head over, and Viktor grins at Lord Plisetsky. “Excuse me,” he says, and steps away before he can even hear the younger man’s protests.

“Viktor,” says Yuuri as he draws closer. “Get me out of here.”

“What for, Your Highness?” asks Viktor, as they fall into step beside one another. Viktor starts to direct him toward the nearest exit, his hand ghosting against the soft gossamer of Yuuri’s cloak.

“I’ve been dancing nonstop for the past several hours, and I’d like a reprieve,” replies Yuuri. With a soft ‘ah’ of understanding, Viktor casts a quick cloaking charm over them, guiding Yuuri out of the ballroom unhindered by petitioning nobles and squabbling subjects.

* * *

Once they’re back in Yuuri’s wing of the palace, Viktor lets the charm fall. Yuuri exhales as he rematerialises, though Viktor had felt the warmth of his hand in his own the entire way. The Prince blows into his hands, creating a small ball of Frostfire to light the way to his room.

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks, when he sees the direction Yuuri’s heading in. “The night’s still young and we still haven’t even danced. You _promised_.”

Yuuri swallows, guilt creeping across his handsome features. “I — I’m sorry?” he manages, as they walk through the empty expanse of his antechamber, his office, his private dining room. “Here, how about this —”

With a snap of his fingers, the haunting tinkling of ice crystals begin to fill the air. Small snowflakes start to fall, along a faint, chiming melody that Viktor vaguely recognises as the score from a famous opera about a king and an ice skater. Yuuri begins to hum along to the song, too, gently plucking his white kid gloves from his hands and dropping them to the side as a frosty dance floor sprouts from under his feet.

Viktor looks around, as the Frostfire floats up to the ceiling of this lonely room with the vaulted arches, where he had first tried to teach Yuuri his brand of ice magic. Yuuri extends a hand now, his expression contrite and pleading, and Viktor goes eagerly into his arms. They begin to step together in time to the music, watching the little snowflakes dance around them.

“This is remarkable work,” Viktor breathes, watching the dusting of white in Yuuri’s hair, along the bridge of his nose. “You really have an eye for beauty, Yuuri.”

The snowflakes tremble and drip at that, as Yuuri’s face lights up in bright embarrassment. “I — thank you,” he manages. Viktor chuckles, spinning him out and back into his arms.

“Just remember. Accept your emotions. Work them into the magic.”

“I know.” Yuuri grits his teeth, as the snowflakes shakily revert to their original state. “I’m trying.”

“That’s good.” Viktor dips him briefly, grinning at Yuuri’s gasp of exhilaration. “You work very hard, Your Highness.”

“Thanks,” mumbles Yuuri, looking demurely down at his feet. Viktor tilts his head back up, stilling their dancing in order to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. Yuuri’s arms come up around Viktor’s neck, pulling their bodies flush.

Viktor gasps a little, as his Prince’s lithe form presses against him. “Are you sure?” he breathes, even as his traitorous fingers curl against the small of Yuuri’s back, slipping under the cloak. Yuuri’s eyes dance with amusement as he angles up to kiss him again, harder, deeper.

“You know the moment we get to your bed we’re not going to leave it for the rest of the night,” Viktor warns.

Yuuri grins at him. “I could live with that,” he says, even as the snowflakes melt away into rain clattering onto their heads, drenching them to the bone. “Oops.”

Viktor laughs at that. “Now we’re going to _have_ to get out of these wet clothes,” he rebukes gently.

Yuuri’s cheeks flush. “Like you said,” he says, as he tugs Viktor towards his room, “the night’s still young.”


	5. waking to your kisses

In the early fall, Viktor had stumbled into his Prince’s bedchamber and found something else entirely. In the heart of winter, Viktor had danced with his Prince in the quiet of his rooms, with nothing accompanying them but the soft tinkle of magical snowflakes.

Amid the warm buzz of spring, Viktor wakes in his Prince’s arms, and pauses for a long while to admire the golden rays of morning sunshine against Yuuri’s skin.

Yuuri is always a little colder than the average person, but right now he is warm under Viktor’s touch, his eyes still closed in sleep. Viktor’s breath lodges in his throat alongside his heart as he idly counts the little freckles on Yuuri’s skin, watches the flush of pink creep from his cheeks down to his chest. Yuuri’s nipples, soft and rosy against the covers, now pebble under Viktor’s fingers. He exhales, long and pleasured, as Viktor’s fingers trail from his chest down the planes of his stomach.

“Viktor,” breathes Yuuri, arching unconsciously into Viktor’s touch. Viktor smiles a little, remembering the first night when Yuuri had said his name like that, plaintive and melodic. Yuuri tilts his head, arching his neck, and this time Viktor doesn’t hesitate to kiss a line down his lover’s throat, savouring the soft flutter of his pulse against his lips.

Yuuri sighs, shivering beneath him, and Viktor chuckles against his collarbone.

“Good morning, solnyshko,” he whispers. Yuuri hums in protest — he’s never been much of a morning person — and turns on his stomach, the sheets falling to barely obscure his ass.

Viktor laughs a little at that, now raining kisses down Yuuri’s shoulderblades and along his spine. Yuuri hums happily at that, settling more firmly against the sheets as Viktor continues southwards. When he hits the dimples at Yuuri’s tailbone, the Prince shifts a little higher, the sheets falling away at last around the round curves of his ass.

With a small smile, Viktor presses a kiss to each cheek before spreading them, admiring the way Yuuri’s hole still seems slightly loose and slick from last night. He presses a kiss to it, admiring the way Yuuri seems to melt back against him at that, before running his tongue in soft laps against the puckered ring. Yuuri hums again at that, content and indolent against the sheets, and Viktor takes it as a sign to continue pleasuring his Prince.

After all, one of Yuuri’s favourite wake-up calls is to this sort of thing — to Viktor’s mouth against the shaft of his cock, Viktor’s tongue deep inside him. Sometimes Viktor even rides him to wake him up, watching the way his Prince seems to slowly melt back into the world of the awake at the moment of his own climax. Yuuri may be beautiful during all the other times they’ve had sex, but this?

This is something special between them.

Viktor takes several more licks before he thrusts his tongue through the loosened muscle, savouring the way Yuuri rewards him with a half-stifled sob of pleasure. His Prince is so sensitive even in his sleep, vulnerability layered over strength like a blanket of snow on the ground. But now it’s springtime — now the snow melts away to the creature of pleasure lurking below, and Yuuri is pushing his hips against Viktor’s mouth with a needy whine.

“I know you’re not entirely asleep,” Viktor teases, pulling back slightly. Yuuri’s cheeks are flushed, his breathing steadily growing ragged. His eyes may still be closed, but his body reacts to Viktor almost instinctively, seeking him out unconsciously in the heat of his desire. Viktor closes his eyes, concentrating, before sliding his newly slicked fingers into Yuuri to further loosen him up.

“ _Viktor_ ,” whines Yuuri, fingers scrabbling against the sheets. Viktor exhales, long and slow, before slicking up his own cock and thrusting into his Prince.

Yuuri’s fingers tighten against the pillow; his breath comes in shuddering little pants as Viktor starts a gentle, steady rhythm, drawing out slow pleasure from the heat of his beloved. With each thrust, Yuuri shudders around him, needy little whines burbling from his throat.

Viktor can’t believe that this exquisite man is his. That he alone in the kingdom can see the Prince so undone like this.

With a small gasp he pulls out, turns Yuuri around and spreads his legs again to thrust back into him. Yuuri’s head lolls on the pillows; his fingers, which had unclenched as Viktor manoeuvred him, now resume their tight grip against the sheets. The flush has crept down his chest, brightening the pinkness of his nipples as Viktor’s hips grow more heated and erratic, as his fingers dig crescents against his Prince’s pale skin.

Then, with a soft cry, he comes inside Yuuri, losing himself to the feeling of Yuuri all around him, to the sleepy, indolent twinkle in Yuuri’s eyes as they flutter open.

He pulls out — he barely has the presence of mind to do that. The spring morning is soft and golden against his back. Yuuri’s smile is lazy; he keeps his legs open, Viktor’s come oozing out of his hole. Viktor quickly snaps his fingers, and the mess vanishes.

“What a shame,” mumbles Yuuri idly. “I’d have liked to keep that. You know Mari’s not going to marry; I’d be the one continuing the line.”

Viktor tries not to think too hard about the ‘M’ word. “You can’t get pregnant without magical assistance,” he points out.

His Prince shoots him a challenging eyebrow, before softening into a smile. “We’ll see,” he says quietly. “Good morning, Viktor.”

Viktor laughs a little, leaning in to kiss him. “Good morning, my Prince,” he replies.


	6. in distant castles mirrors broke

Yuuri had discovered his powers at a very young age.

For as long as he remembers, people have talked in hushed whispers around him, about him. About how the Northern Lights had shone at the hour of his birth, about the stars that had burst into existence alongside him. Yuuri has known, from a young age, that he’s destined for some sort of greatness.

The problem is, he’s not sure what sort of greatness it is, or if it’s even really greatness at all. After all, everyone says that sort of stuff about princes.

His sister, the Crown Princess Mari, is the family’s ruthless negotiator, striking trade deals with far-off lands and keeping local warlords from challenging the Crown. This enables his parents, King Toshiya and Queen Hiroko, to maintain an appearance of benevolence to the people. Yuuri himself is just the strange second child, the one rumoured to have immense control over water and ice.

And yeah, maybe he had been able to master all the techniques and exercises that his tutor Celestino had given him, and then some, but that doesn’t necessarily make him any sort of great _Ice Mage_. Not like Viktor Nikiforov, whose ice dancing abilities had entranced Yuuri at a travelling Winter Fair in his childhood, who had mastered defensive ice magic in more recent years —

Not like Viktor Nikiforov, who’s standing in front of Yuuri right now, his hands outstretched. “Skate with me, Yuuri!” he exclaims, his expression plaintive and carefree, and Yuuri can’t help but answer that with his heart thumping firmly in his throat.

The ice is slippery at first, but the skating spell Viktor had taught him kicks in moments of him whispering the incantation. He slides out to Viktor, narrowly avoiding a collision with the mage. Viktor laughs, catching him by the waist of his tunic, pulling him close. His magenta fur-lined cloak swirls in the icy breeze.

“You did such a good job with the Heartfrost,” Viktor breathes, gesturing around him with a smile. Yuuri looks around, noting the emeralds of summer creeping at the edges of his spell — of the little pocket of winter surrounding this small lake. He only hopes the lake holds up as well as Viktor seems to think it will.

“I guess I’m just… more comfortable around you now,” Yuuri replies, flushing brightly. To his great relief, the winter doesn’t wobble; Viktor’s smile brightens proudly at that.

“Come on, let’s see how well you did with this ice,” he says, pulling Yuuri by the arm out onto the ice. They skate together, their cloaks swirling around them in flashes of blue and magenta. Yuuri tries to keep his mind clear of all distractions as they go, including just how nice Viktor’s hand feels in his right now.

Has it really been more than a year since their first official meeting? Time flies, seasons change, hearts shift and grow. Yuuri knows he’s a different man from the shy, standoffish one Viktor had met the previous spring. His hesitancy, his worries have all since melted away with Viktor, alongside the last of his boundaries in the confines of his bed. Viktor has reforged him with his love; Yuuri feels almost weightless with pride at that.

“Not bad,” says Viktor, pulling Yuuri to a halt at the centre of the lake. “It seems solid, but we’ll have to test it a little harder.”

“A little harder?” echoes Yuuri, swallowing.

Viktor nods. “I’m going to do a jump.”

Looking back, Yuuri realises that that’s the moment he should have stopped it. Should have pulled Viktor back, suggested he practice a little more before casting a Heartfrost on a lake deep enough to freeze it for a skating jump. He didn’t even know he had to make the ice that deep when Viktor first asked, after all. But none of that had occurred to him in this moment, so he smiles and nods, his heart hammering as he moves to the side to clear the space for Viktor’s jump.

Viktor takes off, turns, turns, turns, turns, and crashes.

The ice cracks.

Yuuri shoots another spike of Heartfrost without even realising it.

The bolt of the spell catches Viktor in the chest, toppling him onto the ice floe that’s formed from the cracks in the ice — from the rapidly melting winter all around them. The summer heat reclaims the lake faster than Yuuri can refreeze it; Viktor slips into the lake as the last of the ice melts.

_No!_

Yuuri’s chest constricts like he’s the one drowning instead, instead of his guard, his mentor, his lover. Casting a breathing spell on himself, Yuuri sheds his cloak and boots, before diving into the water after Viktor.

Viktor is slowly drifting down through the water, his eyes closed, his hair billowing eerily in the water. Yuuri’s heart catches; he grabs onto Viktor’s waist and tugs him up towards the surface with all of his might.

It doesn’t occur to him that he could have used a spell to summon Viktor out of the water until he’s paddling for the shore, laying his lover out onto the grassy bank with heaving breaths.

He dries them off with a snap of his fingers, and then surveys his damage. His own heart freezes and sinks further at the sight of the ice that’s percolating on Viktor’s chest.

 _Please, no_.

Heartfrost’s effects can be deadly on humans. Viktor’s breathing is shallow, laboured; his body is rapidly losing warmth. Yuuri’s hands shake; he pauses over Viktor’s wrists, unable to bring himself to cast more magic. Hadn’t he already hurt Viktor enough?

With a lump rising steadily in his throat, Yuuri pulls on his boots, covers himself in his cloak. He scoops Viktor into his arms, his arms straining a little at the other man’s weight, and — with his heavy heart dogging every step — slowly makes his way back towards the Palace.

* * *

“I’ve stabilised him,” says his old mentor, Celestino. “He’s a tough one, he’ll probably fight the effects of the Heartfrost for some time.”

“Some time,” echoes Yuuri, his hands trembling over the cup of heated ricewine. Celestino gestures to the seat, and Yuuri takes it with dread looming over his shoulders.

“A year,” says Celestino. “Unless he finds the key to thaw his heart, he will die this time next year. I’ve done all that I can to give him more time, but the rest is up to him.”

Yuuri’s world falls away under him, silently and softly, like he’s skidded into a tree well halfway down a slope and is now lying in the comforting suffocation of blackness, content with the possibility of oblivion. Because that’s all that will be left for him, if Viktor dies.

Nothing but winter in his heart, if the Heartfrost from his own, foolish hands end up being the thing that kills Viktor.

Yuuri doesn’t realise that the room has gone cold until he feels the chill in his cup. The ricewine has frozen, and so has his chair, and so has the ground. Celestino looks at him, concern palpable on his face as he takes a step and slips on the ice, steadying himself with the other nearby chair. Yuuri feels something prickling at his eyes; he reaches up and finds his fingers coming away wet with snowflakes.

“Your Highness?” asks Celestino.

Yuuri sets the frozen cup down on the frozen table, stands up from the frozen chair. He inhales, tries to rein in the hurricane in his stomach, the tempest in his heart. Everything trembles a little in response.

“How… how can he thaw his heart?” he asks quietly. “What can I do?”

“As the caster of the Heartfrost in question?” Celestino shakes his head. “Nothing but hope for the best. That is a journey for Viktor alone.”

Yuuri knows then what he has to do. He thanks Celestino, pays him for his troubles. He tells his parents his farewells, spinning them a pleasant lie about finding yet another mentor out beyond the Northern Region who will teach him defensive magic while Viktor recovers.

He packs a bag — a small thing, really; he knows he won’t need much when he gets to where he’s going — and finally, he goes in to see Viktor.

The man is slumbering now, his sleep fitful, his expression serene. His silver hair falls perfectly against his silver lashes; his skin almost seems to glow like moonlight. The frost on his chest has thawed, but Yuuri can sense the Hearfrost still, a tiny shard of it still lodged inside Viktor. The portion that can’t be removed without killing him entirely.

Yuuri slowly sinks to his knees by the bed, taking Viktor’s hand in his. Slowly, he slips the signet ring with his seal on it from his own finger, sliding it to Viktor’s. He then presses a kiss to the back of Viktor’s hand, the lump in his throat growing harder with each attempt to swallow it.

“I’m so sorry, Viktor,” he says quietly. “I hope you find your cure. Please don’t let me hinder you.”

Already, the winds are howling outside. A cold snap has descended on the kingdom even in the heat of summer, and Yuuri knows everyone will soon turn their fingers towards the palace, towards him. Because he can’t rein in his emotions — because he couldn’t control his magic — he will go down in history as being the prince who killed the one he loved because of his own personal weakness.

Winter greets him the moment he slips out of the palace, the moment he takes his horse from the stables and rides on through the gates, out of the capital and into the woods heading north. He has to get away from here. Has to lock himself up somewhere where he can’t harm anyone else.

Has to put himself away so that he won’t distract Viktor from finding his cure.

**Author's Note:**

> The adventures of Ice Prince Yuuri and Ice Mage Viktor will return after BBOI finishes, so until then, stay tuned!
> 
> In the meantime, prompt more instalments of their life prior to the final chapter of this piece [here](http://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/ask)


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